


Even on the Darkest Nights

by RedheadRedemption



Category: HetaOni, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst and Feels, Blood and Injury, Character Death, Gen, How Do I Tag, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Not Beta Read, Poor Veneziano, Possible Trauma, The First Loop, because oopsies, im so sorry, lets all agree to punch Steve in the face collectively okay, slight GerIta if you squint, time loops, yep so this is all hurt and no comfort because this is Hetaoni
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:08:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25114423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedheadRedemption/pseuds/RedheadRedemption
Summary: North Italy, or also known as Veneziano, was extremely tired and worn down from the nightmarish hell that he was going through.-A song-fic about Veneziano's thoughts and feelings throughout certain parts of Hetaoni.
Relationships: North Italy & Everyone, Slight Germany/North Italy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Even on the Darkest Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Quick Disclaimer – I don’t own Hetalia or Hetaoni, as they are owned by their respective owners.
> 
> I also don’t own the song, either. But hey, you should give a listen to. It’s a really good song! ~
> 
> I’d also like to mention that SotetAG’s English subs of Hetaoni were a big help with most of the dialogue of the fic. I only tweaked a few things about some of the lines. So, if you notice any similarities with it, then that’s why. 
> 
> Enjoy! ^_^

* * *

_No time for rest_

_No pillow for my head_

_Nowhere to run from this_

* * *

North Italy, or also known as Veneziano, was extremely tired and worn down from the nightmarish hell that he was going through. The hellish torment that he had unknowingly brought his friends and fellow nations along to.

Numerous emotions weighing down on him as heavy as the anchor of a ship. All of which kept him submerged under the torrents and icy-cold depths of his own guilt. Suffocating as he struggled to break free from this prison.

Struggling to keep the others alive.

Suffering quietly as he drowned in the depths, alone.

The memories of when he had first come to the mansion were what the Italian wished he could forget. But he could not. Not when those were the etched vividly into his mind. The events making him pray for forgiveness because of all his mistakes. Desperately wishing that he could do better.

Yes, Veneziano cursed himself every minute for having to be protected like an idiot that first loop.

(Along with all the others that followed.)

Everyone else was doing their best to find ways to escape or help little, useless him. And the Mediterranean nation did not want to be a dead weight. Again, and again, he had strived not to be. Because he was strong, too! No matter what the others around him thought!

But…

The northern Italian simply couldn’t do anything to help. And because of that, everyone was getting hurt while he-!

Veneziano was the one forced to remember every mistake, every single loop, and every way of how his fellow nations had lost their lives right before his very eyes. Like a death sentence or an unrelenting curse, a punishment that he had to live through.

One after the other until he was all alone…

* * *

_No way_

_To forget_

* * *

There was no way that Italy could forget the pained expressions on everyone’s faces as they lost hope. How they were slowly dying, just like a regular, old human would. There was no way he could forget how Japan tried to send him a weak smile.

It was a grim sight.

Veneziano could only stare in absolute horror, amber eyes blown wide open, staring shakily at all of the crimson splatters staining what once was a pristine white room. The overbearing stench of iron and death roaming around in the air. The Italian was speechless as he took in the injures that his old raven-haired friend was covered in, eyes welling up with tears.

Japan was doing his best to comfort the Italian, yet it was hard to when he was resting pitifully against the ruined white piano. The older male would suppress his shudders of pain every so often – a testament to just how much he was struggling to conceal his suffering. Then he finally grimaced, sluggishly moving his hand to firmly hold down on the wound on his abdomen.

“…I’m sorry, Italy-kun. It looks like this is the end for me.”

The auburn-haired man could not forget how he had tried to move to help the other.

“Please… D-don’t say that! Wait just a minute! And I’ll…” He had foolishly made a grab for what little remained of his white flag, not noticing there was not enough to make a bandage. “I’ll make bandages out of this flag and stop the bleeding!” Veneziano had sobbed out, dropping down to his knees, kneeling down before the other nation.

Japan had merely smiled solemnly back.

“No, Italy-kun… no, it’s hopeless. There is no time,” Japan closed his eyes, “please, just leave me here and go to the others.” And it was absolutely heartbreaking, watching as the other let out a weak relieved sigh. “Fortunately, they’ve forgotten… that I came here. So, please, leave me…”

His eyes had opened once more to gaze at the Italian with duller than usual chocolate-colored orbs.

The Italian could only cry harder.

“No! Of course not, I can’t do that! Just...”

Veneziano remembered how he desperately continued to struggle and fumble with the flag in his shaky hands. Realizing too late that there was not enough fabric. “I’ll make bandages right now! Please!” He had sobbed, clenching his teeth, drawing in one shaky breath after the other.

“Italy-kun...”

The Italian gazed up at Japan with tearful amber eyes. “Wh-what?”

“You don’t have your white flag anymore, do you? You used most of it to make bandages for everyone else.” His lips were curled knowingly at him.

Veneziano’s eyes had widened, and his pupils shrank as he felt his heart plummet all the way down to his stomach.

“No, I-I do!”

The northern Italian fumbled once more with the cloth.

“I just made it! See!? I’ll help you right now!”

And he struggled for a moment, letting out another heavy sob when he realized that it, really, was not enough.

“N-No… No, Japan, no!” Veneziano recalls whining softly, as though he were a little bambino again, as he clutched the remaining bits of the flag in his tight grip. “I’ll do anything! I’ll do anything so,” he’d cried, “just hold on a little longer…” He whimpered, finally hanging his head in defeat.

Japan shook his head fondly at him, something the Italian had not seen, but sensed the slow movement of. “Italy-kun, you are exceedingly kind. But even though my eyes are dulled now, I had already known you were lying.”

The older nation closed his eyes and clenched them ever so slightly.

“It is just so… frustrating. Because till the very end, I’d wanted us to get out together…” Japan whispered.

Veneziano trembled as he’d witnessed the tears slid down his friend’s cheeks, and how his heartbeat had ceased entirely.

* * *

_Around the shadows creep_

_Like friend they cover me_

_Just want to lay me down_

_And finally try to get some sleep_

* * *

At the time, the northern Italian had not realized that a specific pair of nations had chosen to be cold towards him because they _needed_ to. Or else, he would not have agreed to leave their sides.

Thinking back on it, it was rather foolish. The way he believed that they were annoyed at him for not pulling his own weight, based on their harsh remarks. Yes, Veneziano was too lost in the spoken words and did not catch what was genuinely lying in between them.

(A mistake, which _would not_ be repeated.)

The two nations had been trying to convince him to move on, so he and the others who were left could escape, and not take the newfound breach for granted.

Veneziano remembered as he tried to stifle his crying, his entire body trembling horribly from not being able to breathe well from all his gasping. The auburn head recalled how he had to quiet himself by placing his firm hand over his mouth to silence and calm himself.

Prussia had been stood behind him as they faced the gravely wounded countries of France, China, and Russia.

China’s face was set in a grave expression, sighing faintly as he groaned in discomfort from what should have been a rather light movement. The pain must have been awful, seeing as they all were not used to feeling it for too long before it would heal.

“Sorry, this is where I fall…” China huffed, gazing at the two of them with a frown.

“We made as much progress as we could. So, I am glad we could make… a new breach, at least.” Russia added.

The tall Russian was also quite severe, regarding the northern Italian and the Prussian with a solemn look instead of his usual act. Though that probably should have not come off as too much of a surprise. Since the beige-haired nation – who’s hair was now ruined by that damn _red_ hue – would drop that childlike smile and demeanor when the situation indeed called for it.

“Oui… It was an excellent effort. Progress is progress, wouldn’t you say?”

France had been the worst off of the three. But he’d forced a weak smile upon his face in his attempts to reassure the Italian. It was such a Big Brother France move to comfort the other person despite being in pain himself, and it only made Veneziano release a strangled sob.

“Come now, Italy, don’t cry. Just go. If you stay here, that monster is going to show up again.”

“But…” The Italian had tried to argue, plead his case that they could still make it out with them, but…

The Frenchman glanced behind him towards his old friend, who could only gaze back at him with upset, albeit understanding ruby orbs. The albino seemed to comprehend the message before Veneziano had been able to. Already knowing what was going to be asked of him.

“Prussia, will you take care of Italy?” France’s cerulean eyes were clouded from a mixture of emotion and grief. But they were still as full of affection as ever. However, everybody in the room could also sense the urgency in them, one that usually not there. “We all know that he is fast on his feet, but… I must admit... it is hard to fight that _monstre_.”

The silver-haired man had been quiet for a moment, and Veneziano had hoped that he would refuse. But no, it was only wishful thinking as he proceeded to nod. “Ja… Don’t worry about a thing, France. I already knew that.”

Veneziano could still remember how the Prussian’s eyes had shined, but there were no tears that came out.

“…I’ll do it for you.”

“I’m surprised! How… very mature of you, Prussia.” France had teased before his expression drooped into a small frown. “But… it’s very much appreciated, old friend. I trust you. Still, I only wish I could have been able to see… mes fils… one last time. I wonder where Canada… America and England are right now…?”

The nation’s eyelid fluttered weakly, straining to remain open a tad longer.

“Hopefully, they’re all as safe as they can be in this…” The blond smiled one last time before his eyes slipped shut, and France had finally succumbed to his injuries.

And Veneziano remembered that he had cried out in distress, taking a small step to over to the deadly silent nation.

“Big Brother… France?”

“…”

There, of course, had been no answer.

If the Italian had not been so tense and distracted as he had been, then he possibly would have noticed the way Russia’s face fell. But it was gone in a flash because the male steeled himself quickly, a blank mask set in place of his sorrow.

“Well, what are you waiting for, then? Go quickly, and don’t let our efforts be in vain,” the Russian pushed out through the pain, “I cannot believe that you’re so slow on the uptake.”

It should have been filled with some sort of venom or bark, but it was not. And still, the Italian had not noticed the fact. And honestly, it was depressing to think back on how the misunderstood nation was perfectly fine and prepared to take the role of the villain if it meant he and Prussia would leave.

Veneziano also recalled the way China had exhaled deeply, frowning, but also sharing the same sentiment as the male who was sitting right next to him.

“He’s right… If you stay here, you’re only going to get in the way. Just get away quickly,” China grumbled.

Prussia grimaced, walking over to Veneziano with a determined stride. The albino had grabbed him by the arm gently, yet with a firm grip. “Let’s go, Italy. You heard what they said,” the ex-nation had winced when he felt the small Italian struggle in his hold. “…We should get out of here.”

The auburn-haired man had fought as much as he could, but it did not work. His complains died in his throat before they could escape and be birthed. And so, he forced himself to remain still, finally allowing himself to be dragged out by the ex-nation.

For a single hesitant moment, Veneziano stopped briefly to give the other two nations one last tearful glance before he left with Prussia. In his mind, all Veneziano could do in this horrible situation, was pray silently for forgiveness. Apologizing over and over to those who had fallen.

Because, after all, this is all _his fault_ in the first place.

* * *

_We carry on through the storm_

_Tired soldiers, in this war_

_Remember what we’re fighting for_

* * *

Veneziano was sure that the others left must have been as tired as he was. But even then, they all carried on through this hell, trying to find an exit of some kind.

The gruesome part being how there were not many of them left now.

The northern Italian remembered how he stood tearfully in front of America. The younger nation had been sitting down on the ground, leaning against the bed that England laid peacefully on. On the bed next to the Englishman, laid an equally peaceful Canada.

A red splattered, once a white, polar bear was sitting next to the Canadian, petting his blond head gently…

Not even once did America lose his “heroic grin,” throwing Veneziano one with practiced ease and a small nod. And, although he was smiling, his eyes were more honest as they reflected a certain kind of sadness.

“Yeah, we’ll be fine, so just get out of here and get us reinforcements or something.” He had said, striving to be as composed and reliable as possible.

Veneziano frowned. “Wait…! If I do that, you’ll be even more injured and probably beyond help–”

America’s grin gradually disappeared. “It’s fine, Italy.” His gaze had turned softer as he glanced behind himself. And Veneziano knew he was quietly mourning his fallen family members that laid on the beds the same way he placed them, cold and unmoving. “Besides, I want to do these two a favor and stay with them.”

“America–” The auburn-haired man had tried again.

The blond interrupted him once more, but this time with a sigh. He stared off into the distance as he clutched his pistol tightly. “No, that’s…” America paused. “That’s not it. They can’t hear me anymore, so I’ll tell you in all honesty. I want to stay with them…” He turned back to the distressed Italian with determined eyes.

“Till my last moment.”

And Veneziano flinched, reminded of a white piano and the dying words of his Japanese friend. He remembered how he felt tears stream down his face again as America continued. The way the Italian was regarded with a meaningful look – one that he understood – along with a genuine smile.

“…Because the two are very important to me.”

“And because you’re going to…” Veneziano had sniffled, realizing again and again how he was the weak link, “protect me-!”

America chuckled softly. “Yeah... Even if I can’t move anymore, I’ll still be the hero,” he closed his eyes before opening them again, “but I’m not making a mistake. And I don't regret anything.”

The Italian could only stay quiet while he stared at the other nation with sad, teary amber eyes.

But the blond looked back at him encouragingly. “Go for it,” America’s turquoise eyes shined behind Texas, “I wish you the best of luck.”

In that moment, Veneziano only wished he could have done so much more.

* * *

_Meet me on the battlefield_

_Even on the darkest night_

_I will be your_

_Sword and shield_

_Your camouflage and you_

_Will be mine_

* * *

Veneziano adores Germany a lot.

And the northern Italian was honestly not afraid to admit it. To admit that… he held a lot of love and affection for the muscular blond. He respected and admired the manner the other presents himself. Because Germany was strong, brave, and he even took care of him, no matter how annoying he was!

Yes, sometimes, he probably bothered the stern nation too much. But, Veneziano knew that the other cared, and he cared just as much for him, also.

Therefore…

It was a horrible feeling seeing how the man and his brother appeared now. Veneziano remembered how he stood in front of the two Germanic nations, staring at them as he cried. The two were terribly injured and sitting with their backs against the wall, unable to do much else.

“Come on, don’t cry…. We got the key back!” Prussia had tried to reassure him.

And the fact only made Veneziano cry more, upsetting him because, _yet again_ , he could not help. Why was running and crying all he was good for?

On the other hand, Germany had gazed at him with soft eyes. “Hey, stop crying.” He scolded, trying to sound like he usually did, but then he sighed – an exhausted and tired sound. “We risked our lives and went through so much to get it back. You should be happier, you know,” he tried next.

Veneziano merely gazed back at the blond with betrayed teary eyes.

“Why did you lie to me?” He had asked, hating himself for only being able to weep. The Italian scowled a bit as he got more distraught, tears continuing to slide down. “You said you were only going to take a look around,” he said softly in a whisper.

Germany shook his head fondly. “Ah, yes, well,” he gazed at Italy with his intense blue eyes, “it’s probably for the same reason you didn’t tell us that everyone else were dead.” He let out a sigh again, this time in noticeable discomfort.

Italy’s eyes widened at the words. “You knew?!”

Before Germany could reply, he was interrupted by his brother.

“Heh, I was the one who told him. Mostly about the ones I’d discovered and known about… Let’s just say that we put the pieces together after that.” Prussia laughed before groaning in pain. “Now…” He took a deep and labored breath, “West, why don’t we take a little rest? I’m kinda… tired.”

The words were slurred ever so slightly.

And not a second later, the Prussian allowed his head to rest against the wall and let his eyes close.

Germany’s eyes were pained as he glanced towards his brother. “You’re right, Bruder. You can go ahead,” he turned back to look at the Italian, “I’ll catch up with you.”

Veneziano never felt more like a child, then at that moment. “Why?! No!” He refused as he stomped his foot and cried. “I can’t do this anymore! Please… I’m staying with you. At least, let me stay with you, Germany…” He had whimpered.

The Italian could see how the German was slipping away from his grasp. The other may have still had the strength to scold him, but it was all a show.

“Anyone who… disobeys… will run… ten laps…” Germany’s head lethargically slumped back against the wall, and he went silent.

And Veneziano had not realized that he’d…

“Look… if you don’t… hurry up… he’ll keep adding even more.” The Prussian added faintly.

“Fine then! I don’t care about that! Those stupid laps, I’ll run the ten laps. I’ll run as many laps as you want! But I’ll run away,” Veneziano remembers whimpering, “and then Germany will have to run… to catch me…”

It was then when he finally realized the quiet pair, growing silent himself as he stared down at the two in front of him.

“Prussia?” There was no response.

“Ger…ma…ny?” No response, either.

Oh.

_Oh._

Veneziano hated the silence.

The silence meant that there was no one there to warmly greet you. That there were no people around to interact or chat with, and it was oh so very _lonely_. And he _hated_ being alone, whether it was physically or in his thoughts.

He simply _could not stand it_.

It reminded him of all those times where he was forced to endure the pain of waiting patiently for the return of a certain someone.

As Veneziano stared, dumbfounded, at Germany’s still figure. It gave him the same heartbreak as that he still felt from long ago. The memory of a young boy with blond hair with a black cloak and matching hat that walked away with empty promises of his return.

Veneziano hid his face in his hands as he screamed loudly, not caring when it started to hurt or when his voice began to crack from the pain.

Because why?

Why couldn’t he have done more for his friends? And why was he such a _coward_?

* * *

_Echoes of the shots ring out_

_We may be the first to fall_

_Everything could stay the same_

_Or we could change it all_

* * *

Veneziano remembers standing in front of the damned mansion, panting from how fast he had to run to outrun the Thing. In his hands was a journal that almost resembled a worn and torn bible.

He could not forget how there was rain pouring slowly.

But, at the time, he did not care.

Eventually, far enough from its bounds, the nation had stopped and turned around to look. An attempt to check if the Thing was still chasing after him. And no, it was not. Instead, it observed him with its huge black extraterrestrial eyes and stood calmly in front of the mansion.

And just like that, all the frustration that he’d been feeling was boiling. Wanting to be released, so he did just that.

“When I get out of this place, it won’t be the same as before,” Veneziano had barked with a hint of insanity. “As a nation, I will destroy this place!” He yelled, voice echoing around them.

The Thing reminds silent, but the northern half of Italy continued.

“Doesn’t that make you frustrated?” The Italian scoffs, almost embodying the personality of his older brother. "I’m your last trophy, after all." He gloated angrily, trying to goad something out of the damned creature. “You lost to the guy who’s only redeeming quality is his fast feet.” He stated, his voice going from a yell down to a whisper.

“….”

Veneziano hung his head for a second, his bangs covering his eyes as he clutched the journal to his chest. “… Back…” He had muttered. “TAKE US BACK!” The Italian finally roared, his amber eyes narrowed and lit with righteous fury.

The Thing merely tilted its head.

Italy smirked darkly at that, seeking to bargain with it. Knowing now that it was paying some sort of attention or showing interest. “You can take us back in this warped space, can’t you?” He questioned impatiently. “If you do that, why don’t you eat me first?” He offered, striking a deal, then giving it an insane smile.

The Thing stared blankly at him.

“If you catch me, that is,” Veneziano had continues to antagonize.

Another moment of silence passed before–

“Just– **_GO BACK_**!”

The next thing the auburn-haired nation saw was how everything flashed a brilliant white. And, as everything slowly began to disappear around the Italian, it was done. And he knew that his wish had been, somehow, granted by that monster.

Veneziano recalled how he smiled sadly, hoping to see all his friends alive and well…

* * *

_Meet me on the battlefield_

* * *

No matter how many times he went through this looping hell, someone always died. If one of them did not make it, then Veneziano would quickly run off to find the grandfather clock and turn back time. He was not afraid to attempt it all over again if it meant _all_ his friends would survive the next round.

(He would do it as many times as needed.)

No, Veneziano was not going to fail another person anymore.

The nation would become strong enough so that the others would not have to protect him anymore. He did not want to be known as a _useless coward_ when he knew he could be so much more. So, yes, he would fight to keep them all alive, and they will all make it out together.

No matter the cost, the Italian swore to himself.

* * *

_We’re standing face to face_

_With our own human race_

_We commit the sins again_

_And our sons and daughters pay_

* * *

Now Veneziano stands in front of them as the realization that they've been locked in the cell of the basement settles.

The nations all stare at him with shocked and betrayed faces, confused that _he_ was the one who did such a thing as lead them to this awful place.

And the northern Italian cannot help but see a mirror image of his first loop self in their eyes – their roles reversed. He hears how everyone yells to open the cell door, but the ones he places the most focus on are Germany and Japan's voices.

Veneziano apologizes to all of them in his head, preparing himself for the role he has to play. “Well then, America? Aren’t you going to tell all of them?” He sneers.

The auburn-haired nation hides behind a mask and wants to cry at the rage evident in Germany's voice and the concern in Japan’s. But he continues to try and distance himself by becoming the villain in this version of the story. 

As Veneziano walks away from them, he can't help but wonder if… in an odd way, the China and Russia from the first loop would be proud of him.

* * *

_Our tainted history_

_Is playing on repeat_

_But we could change it if_

_We stand up strong_

_and take the lead_

* * *

As he struggles to fight against the larger and more powerful version of the creature. Veneziano thinks about all the past, just remembering.

All the blood, loss, and _regret_ …

He also sees himself surrounded by crimson covered clocks amid a black void. The damn journal, where he writes down every single event that goes down, is in his hand. The northern Italian sees countless visions of the past loops – their futile attempts to escape. Each time, he thinks he is closer to the grand finale, but then it all collapses around him.

Veneziano laughs miserably, scolding himself, thinking perhaps the next attempt will be better.

As Veneziano defeats the muscular version of the Thing, he gradually begins to feel faint from the injuries he has received. Huh, that’s funny… He must be going crazy because that almost sounded like his friends and his big brother shouting out his name.

_God_ …

He’s _so, so_ tired.

* * *

_When I was younger_

_I was named_

_A generation unafraid_

_For the heirs to come_

_Be brave_

* * *

As he falls unconscious, Veneziano recalls when he was a little bambino.

His Grandpa Rome would tell him many stories of his triumphs, teach him new lessons, and offering him advice about life for the future as if he knew beforehand that he would one day disappear. Weakly, Veneziano remembers the most important words he had been told.

How the Italian should not be afraid of anything – _to be brave_.

The auburn head remembers it well because of how his grandfather would pet him softly on the head, caressing his hair. How Grandpa Rome would tell him these things while being showered with tender, familial touches.

In a way, the northern Italian thinks he is finally strong enough to stand on his own like his Grandpa Rome would have wanted.

Eyes closing, Veneziano truly wonders… if he’d proud of him right now.

* * *

_End._

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I first wrote this oneshot wayyyy back in August 2019 because I fell back into the rabbit-hole of Hetalia, its fan-games, its fan-art, its fics, and etc., lol. 
> 
> And then it was abandoned and not published anywhere cuz, uh... ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> When I heard this song, “Meet Me on the Battlefield” by Svrcina, I knew that it was perfect for Hetaoni and was like, well… And now, I finally posted it. XD
> 
> (And perhaps, um… I also may have started a Hetaoni fic with my OC, too. But shhh, details, and I probs won't ever post it.)


End file.
